


Pieces

by Tabi_J



Category: Mass Effect: Andromeda
Genre: F/F, Funny, Humor, I'm Bad At Tagging, Injury, No Smut, Sloane Kelly is still my fave, drugs but legal, equal parts serious/humorous/fluffy maybe even, not very graphic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:34:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26966023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tabi_J/pseuds/Tabi_J
Summary: This is a collection of random one-shots that came to my mind, mainly Sloane/Sara. Many are humorous. Some serious. Maybe smut eventually? I'll add tags as they apply. I plan each chapter to be their own stand alone work but all will typically involve the same characters. I'm obsessed with Sloane Kelly. I'm really obsessed with Sloane/Sara pairings and I don't see enough of them. I can even get on board with Sloane/Addison pairings but barring a few *real* gems out there, there's just not enough attention to this achingly complex woman. I feel she gets written off and I just don't get it. She's no angel but the interesting ones never are ;) I still believe she has a good heart and I will defend that. I'm a sucker for Sloane, okay?Also a few disclaimers. Not everything is canon so if there's inconsistencies roll with it. This is straight out of my imagination. Also, I'm playing no man's sky right now and because I can, I am blending elements of the two worlds at my pleasure. No Korvax or anything. Just some of the exploration elements that were lacking in the Andromeda game I'm using to fill in minor details here and there. So if you notice, yes it is from NMS. XD
Relationships: Foster Addison/Sloane Kelly, Sloane Kelly/Female Ryder | Sara
Kudos: 1





	Pieces

**Author's Note:**

> This one shot started as a humorous Sloane/Sara focus but Addison featured much more prominently than originally expected. The main content was supposed to focus on the funny things Sara says to Sloane/Addison after sustaining an injury requiring her to be hopped up on pain meds. But I always get way hung up on things like "context" and "background" and then it spirals from there. XD
> 
> A reminder there may be deviations from canon. This particular one is post the ending of the game but has some non-canon things in it. This whole story takes place on the Nexus.
> 
> I think I'm mostly pleased with this but I've had no one but myself to proof read and it's well after midnight and I'm tired. So here goes ya'll. Buckle up for the ride.

When the bomb goes off, Sloane has little time to process anything. Especially the impact that throws her to the floor in a jarring smack-down fashion, rattling her teeth and causing her to bite her own tongue. 

For a second, she is stunned. The air knocked out of her. Not for long though. Sloane didn’t survive all this time, through all this shit, responding to surprise situations by lying helplessly on her back like an overturned bug. 

And she’s not even surprised. Not really. 

She never should have agreed to this. Never intended to step foot on this shit hole of an Ark again. But then after the whole final showdown with the kett everyone succumbed to that post-victory high, brimming with a false sense of unity. Well, almost everyone. Sloane knew better and kept her distance, brooding in a corner. Only Sara dared approach, though even she gave up trying to pull Sloane into the festivities fairly quickly.

It only took the following morning for the warm and fuzzy feelings to subside into the hangover that is reality. And alcohol, of course, for some. With the morning light the festivities were decidedly over. Back to business as usual. The trash and booze and celebratory debris swept away while everyone dutifully returned to their own corners of the world and (thankfully) left Sloane well enough alone.

_ Most everyone. _

But then there was Sara. 

Sara, with her dogged fix-it mentality and indomitably naïve belief in peaceful resolutions. 

She had successfully driven off the kett. Paved the way for the establishment of outposts (that were even now thriving decently all things considered). Had a planet named in her honor. Countless successes could be ticked off to her credit despite the whole galaxy around her seeming to go up in flames. Sara Ryder was the hero of the hour. 

Sara fucking Ryder. The human pathfinder.

Somehow she even managed to break down Sloane’s own paranoid distrust of all things Initiative, making an ally out of her. Not that Sloane would ever trust the Initiative. But she had an understanding with Sara. An understanding that prompted her to come rushing to the Pathfinder’s aid in that final battle despite technically already having repaid her debt by allowing the Kadaran Outpost to exist. 

And now she had talked her into this meeting, Something-something-reconciliation-something. Bureaucratic bullshit. Sloane doesn’t know why she agreed to this. Doesn’t know what she even 

expected. When did Sloane let herself become so careless? She should have learned her lesson after what happened with Jien...

  
  


It’s with that sobering thought that Sloane forces her senses to regroup, taking in and assessing her surroundings.

  
  


Sloane is on her back. Burnt air. Ringing in her ears (not helpful). Bitter iron on her tongue...Elbow in her ribs?  _ Definitely _ a fucking elbow in her ribs.

And that’s when she registers the weight of another body on top of hers just as said body begins to stir, untangling their limbs. Whoever it was had either been thrown onto Sloane in the blast or they had been attempting to shield Sloane from it. Sloane guesses at the former because who on the Nexus would take a shot for  _ her _ ? 

Movements continue, their attempts at extrication from Sloane slow and clumsy as if they are just waking from a deep sleep. For a moment, the elbow digs painfully deeper as the mystery person desperately attempts an upright position. They don’t quite succeed. Instead a face hovers only a foot or so above Sloane’s position on the floor.

Sara. 

_ Of course,  _ Sloane thinks to herself with a mental eye roll she can’t quite manage at the moment. Who else would be stupid enough to throw herself in the path of an explosion, much less for the head of the Outcasts?

For a second, Sara’s eyes seem to have troubles focusing. She stares through Sloane, wobbles a little a crease furrowing her brow as she appears to struggle with something. It’s then Sloane notices the huge gash in her hairline that’s streaming blood down half her face.

Sloane grimaces inwardly at the sight.  _ How many blows to the head had the Pathfinder taken over the course of the last few months?  _ She wonders to herself.

__ It’s at that moment Sara blinks through the blood, screws up her face and finally focuses her gaze on Sloane with an intense concentration on her face. When she sees Sloan looking back at her, she breaks into a shit-eating grin.

And then Sloane does roll her eyes.  _ Too many. _

* * *

  
  


Sloane tried to tell herself it was a chill in the air that ran shivers down her spine as she traced the familiar, sterile hallways in her trek to the medbay. Too many unwanted memories creeping up at every corner. The feeling made her nervous and extra guarded. 

Reflexively, Sloane translated both into irritability, scowling at a passerby who turned a corner too quickly, brushing her arm. Their eyes blew wide and they quickly scurried the opposite direction. A common reaction around Sloane these days.

But the head of the Outcasts was not headed to the medbay for herself. On the contrary, she had insisted on tending her own minor injuries not trusting anyone Initiative to do so for her (especially now). Yet against her better judgement, Sloane had stuck around until the dust settled to check on Sara. Not only did she distrust the Initiative in general, there was no way of knowing if the bomber was working alone or where else these crazies might be lurking. Suppose some tech with a syringe full of the wrong kind of sedative finds their way to Sara’s cot? 

In a matter of hours, the suspected bomber was in custody. Some fanatic in engineering who still held a strong grudge towards Sloane and apparently decided to express their displeasure with explosions. Even now, Kandros was questioning the individual in the security department (a place Sloane steered far clear of as there was still too much left unspoken there and she was not prepared to unpack that baggage right now).

At first, Sloane thought the attack had been centered on her. But the position and timing of the blast revealed a worrying truth: she was not the target. 

After the kett were dealt with, everyone knew that the Pathfinder had taken a hiatus on the Nexus, returning temporarily to her designated quarters on the ark. The bomb had been placed in the entry to the only single connecting hallway from those quarters to the designated conference room. Sara had been early. Most who were attending hadn’t filtered in yet and although Sloane had also arrived early (not at all to scope out the room in the event of such an attack) the explosion had not detonated until Sara’s appearance. 

Sloane had not overlooked the significance of this detail. It was clearly a message to the Pathfinder. More like a homicide attempt. She had been the one to set this up, worked relentlessly as a mediator between the two sides in a futile effort to bridge the gap. Some were amenable to the idea, simply wanting the constant string of horrors to stop and leave the past behind them. Others were not so ready to come around and apparently they had begun organizing, now making Sara their target.

Sloane had suffered relatively little injury despite the proximity of the blast. If not for Sara who had attempted to biotically shield them both, they would likely have pieces missing. Even so, the Pathfinder hadn’t quite been quick enough and had absorbed more of the blast than was likely to prove good for her. 

After the blast, when Sara had succeeded in sitting up on her own she insisted on giving Sloane a once-over to assess that she had, in fact, “saved your ass again”. She then proceeded to make some obnoxious comment about Sloane becoming her own personal damsel in distress. Before Sloane could shoot off an equally sarcastic retort, however, the Pathfinder had pitched sideways, vomited on the floor and then promptly collapsed in it.

Now as Sloane stepped into the medbay, she was greeted by the sight of the Pathfinder’s personal doctor (Lexi?, she thinks). The asarian one, always dogging Sara about her brash fighting style and risk-taking habits.

_ Good. _ That’s one less person to worry about. From what Sloane could tell of the Pathfinder’s crew, they seemed loyal. She would take care of her. As for the other workers in the medbay….

Sloane’s eyes scanned the room, not noticing at first the other individual standing at Sara’s bedside. 

_ Addison. _

Sloane’s arms automatically cross themselves over her chest. The reflexive gesture is in part a barrier between her and her former coworker. Today, however, the move has a secondary cause. After the blast, Sloane had the misfortune of having to take off her armour as it had taken quite a bit of damage. This had forced an obligatory wardrobe change. One for which she was not prepared. Once the Pathfinder had been taken to medbay and the ensuing chaos had settled, some random Initiative diplomat had brought her some items from the Unclaimed section in security.

_ Probably some poor dead bastard’s clothes.  _ Sloane couldn’t help but think grimly.

Most were ill-fitting at best and Sloane would rather die than put on anything with the initiative logo stamped on it. Something she thought should be obvious to someone who held the position of diplomat. But then again it wouldn’t be beyond the realm of possibility that this was an intentional slight. 

With her options greatly reduced, Sloane had settled for a pair of rather form-fitting black slacks which had her pulling at the crotch to try to give herself some extra room and a deep, dark crimson button up. With an air of trepidation, she examined her reflection in the mirror and cringed at herself. She looked like she was on her way to a fucking interview. 

The biggest problem perhaps was the distinct lack of bra. The supposed diplomat, of whom Sloane’s opinion was fast plummeting, had either overlooked the garment or not had one to offer. Not that Sloane considered herself overly modest or ever felt compelled to conform to social norms. It just drew the wrong kind of attention. It made Sloane squirm a little as the slippery material seemed to mold itself to her in the most obvious ways. 

When Addison looks up from the Pathfinder (who appeared to be sleeping) her eyes widen fractionally. Sloane doesn’t miss that she surreptitiously glances her up and down, brows twitching ever so slightly upward. 

Whether this was surprise from seeing her outside of her armour or something else entirely Sloane couldn’t begin to guess. Whatever the cause, it does make her self-conscious again as to what she must look like in the ill-fitted outfit. 

Several more expressions flit across the other woman’s features. She seems to be actively stamping them out before they can fully form. The look that settles on Addison’s face is decidedly unreadable and Sloane doesn’t bother trying. 

It’s not why she’s here. Foster Addison wasn’t someone she expected to cross paths with today, not since the meeting had been canceled. And although she had steeled herself for the possibility this morning she had considered it the silver lining on the shit day this had turned out to be. She had not forgiven Addison anymore than she had Tann. 

“You’re…” Addison starts, then seems to change her mind mid-sentence. “...here”, she finishes lamely. 

“Observational skills on point, as always.” Sloane laces her voice with sarcasm bordering on derision. 

Shockingly, no barbed quip is returned. Addison fidgets and makes as though to cross her own arms. Instead, she seems to actively stop herself and settles for placing her forearms together against her stomach and grabbing her elbows as if trying to find something to do with her hands. The result leaves her looking equal parts vulnerable and painfully awkward. Suddenly unable to meet Sloane’s challenging gaze, Addison makes a show of diverting her gaze sideways at the still-sleeping Pathfinder. The look that flashed across her face before she broke eye contact….

_ Was that…..guilt? _

There’s a heaviness in the air Sloane just isn’t prepared to deal with right now, blind-sided as she was at finding the woman here. Addison was baggage on top of baggage. If Sloane’s being honest with herself, she is surprised the Director of Colonial Affairs found it within herself to take the time to visit the sleeping Pathfinder in person rather than just sending her aide or some other meaningless act of diplomacy.

Just as Sloane has half a mind to leave and come back later, the Pathfinder stirs creating a welcome break in the tension as both women’s attention focus on her in earnest. 

First, an arm twitches and her eyes slit open slowly, almost cautiously. As she moves, Sloane notices a large swath of stitches close the gash high on her forehead. Then with what appears to require far more effort that should be necessary, the woman further opens her eyes and moves to lift her head from the pillow.

The sight borders on humorous, head lolling off the side of the pillow before swinging a dizzying arc into an upright position. Her head bobbles unsteadily for a few seconds. Eyes squint, expression perplexed as she regards the two women at her bedside as if contemplating the meaning of the universe. Now that the woman’s eyes are finally open, Sloane can see her pupils are blown and a realization dawns on her.

Whatever the doctors gave her for pain, the Pathfinder is clearly stoned out of her gourd.

In case this wasn’t obvious to her visitors before, the Pathfinder decides to prove it when she opens her mouth.

After studying Addison for a full minute with all the bewildered intensity of someone who doesn’t know what the hell is going on, she wobbles her drug-glazed gaze over to Sloane. 

She stares stupidly at her. 

For a moment, Sloane wonders if she even recognizes her and begins debating whether or not it’s the drugs or just brain damage that has her face so slack as she begins to rake her eyes up and down her body. When they stop pointedly on her chest, Sloane is reminded of the clothing she is wearing and, more specifically, the clothing she is  _ not _ wearing. Now her stare has graduated from stupid to an open-mouthed, bug-eyed fish.

Addison seems to be pretending she’s not in the room. She feigns unawareness, distinctly avoiding the pathfinder’s line of sight. Suddenly she is totally engrossed in some small, unseen spot on the far wall.

As the seconds tick by and the pathfinder’s eyes remain stuck as if glued to her chest Sloane’s exasperation slowly builds. Some inexplicable stubbornness surges up in Sloane and she fights the urge to cross her arms again, blocking the pathfinder’s view. Attempting to indirectly call the pathfinder out, she clears her throat and rolls her eyes to the ceiling. 

It occurs to Sloane that in her current state the woman is too far gone to pick up a hint. But thankfully she adjusts her gaze of her own accord in order to look back up at Sloane. 

She seems struck by a sudden burning urge to say something but her lips stick together and she only succeeds in a muted grunt that sounds as if she has cotton stuffed in her mouth. She licks her lips and tries again before managing to speak.

“Wow”. Sara announces the single word as though uttering a prophecy, the pleased look she gives herself disproportionate to the delivery.

A moment later the woman seems to gather some small amount of clarity and finds the ability to use words again. 

Unfortunately, this is not an improvement as the clarity hasn’t seemed to reach her brain.

  
  


“You know,” she begins as though casually continuing a conversation they weren’t having, “beautiful just isn’t the word for you,” she slurs out dumbly. 

Something like a strangled snort busts violently out of Addison. She looks alarmed with herself and quickly schools her expression back to nothing.

For the second time, Sloane considers turning around and leaving things be for now until the drugs wear off and the pathfinder returns to herself. 

But Sara isn’t done.

“It’s too delicate. It implies delicacy.” She continues importantly, then shakes her head so enthusiastically she has to take a moment to steady herself.

“You don’t have a delicate beauty. You have a….a strong sort of beauty.” And now the words are flowing out of Sara so alarmingly fast that Sloane wishes she could find the faucet to switch it back off.

“But we don’t really have a word for that, do we?” She continues unfazed or unaware of the steadily building awkwardness she was creating. “I’ve searched and I’ve searched but I just haven’t found the right word for you.” A dramatic tinge of sorrow stains her tone at this revelation.

But then with a speed that gives Sloane whiplash, the pathfinder’s expression brightens visibly as she leans forward and asks, “Have you ever seen a firestorm?”

Grateful for the change in topic, however strange it might be, Sloane responds “Can’t say I have.”

The relief doesn’t last long. The other woman’s eyes go glassy. There’s a reverence in her voice as she continues:

“Sometimes they’re just entire walls of fire. And the winds push them at incredible speeds, there’s no chance of surviving if you’re caught up in one. They’re intense and all-consuming.” 

She stares into space with the solemness of a veteran recounting old war stories.

“Sometimes they’re less intense but then they’re….unpredictable.” She cocks her head to the side, regarding Sloane as though her words are significant. 

“First off, they’re unbearably hot.” For some reason known only to the pathfinder’s addled mind, that part prompts a mischievous little grin, as though she just got by with something. “Hot spots pop up, changes in the elemental composition of the soil focus the heat.” Her words retain a slur but she speaks like a woman driven by some unspoken purpose. “Makes everything around it spontaneously combust. Fires just…. _ ignite. _ ” 

Her eyes almost look like they have a little fire in them as she says the word and Sloane finds herself mildly amused at the contrast of her faux-lucidity and seeming directionlessness. 

“That’s my favourite. The heat of those fires make embers out of everything they touch. And the heat is so intense it creates these updrafts.” Her hand shoots up into the air to demonstrate, in case the two women needed visuals.

“The embers get caught up in the power of those updrafts, and they just...fall.” Now her hands come up and spread open, as though scattering imaginary confetti to the heavens. ”They fall in reverse. Fall up, upwards into the sky. Completely consumed.” Her eyes follow the non-existent embers, a wistful silence ensuing as she seems to solemnly contemplate their utter destruction.

_ She is high as fuck.  _ Sloane thinks to herself and wonders what the hell Lexi gave her.

At this point, Sloane waits to hear more and is surprised when the woman remains silent. Addison, who started out listening with an air of indulgence, now seems strangely enraptured by the story.

Bemused and feeling oddly compelled to respond to the bizarre production, Sloane gently corrects, “I think you mean ‘floats’, Sara.” 

“Noooooo.” Another enthusiastic shake of the head. She leans back into her pillow and closes her eyes as though content. “Falls,” she insists with that same wistfulness. 

After a moment loaded with something she can’t quite put a finger on, Sloane attempts to break the tension. 

“Sounds like a pain in the ass.”

At this, the pathfinder enjoys a good chuckle. 

“Ohhh, they can be.” Something like amusement or affection thickens her voice. 

Her eyes are still closed when she adds with a smile pulling at her lips, “They’re terrible and fierce and breathtaking and deadly and…..” her voice pauses abruptly in her list-making and when Sloane looks back up, Sara’s eyes have reopened. Staring back at her, with a laser-focus this time.

“...and beautiful.”

_ Uh-oh.  _

The look in the other woman’s eye can only be described as what Sloane imagines “googly-eyed” to be, if that really was an expression. A part of her almost snorts but simultaneously something else pulls inside her chest. She names it trepidation as she strongly suspects what’s about to come out of the pathfinder’s mouth next.

The pathfinder continues to hold Sloane’s gaze, Addison a forgotten bystander. 

Then softly, “You’re kind of like a firestorm.”

And just like that, the Pathfinder drools on herself and passes out.

* * *

Addison and Sloane decide that’s a good time to take a meal break. 

Still unsettled by the pathfinder’s lack of coherency, Sloane isn’t ready to bail just yet. Not until she’s sure the pathfinder is out of harm’s way. She did take a rather nasty blow to the head on account of Sloane, after all. And with the drugs she’s on right now, she’s in no state to fend off any subsequent would-be attackers. Sloane tells herself that’s a good enough reason to stay, even though her anxiety builds with each passing moment she remains on the ark.

The two women walk in a tense parallel to one another. Each heading in the same direction but unwilling to officially do so “together”. Silence the only thing they are willing to share. 

Until, “Well now we know why she worked so hard to form an alliance with you. And here we thought it was altruism.” The Director of Colonial Affairs says dryly. 

And then Sloane’s head snaps over in her direction as an unexpected squeaking noise emanates from the woman. Her hand is covering her mouth and the squeaking gets louder as she unsuccessfully tries to stifle her giggles. 

This continues until she has to stop in the hallway. Attempts to cover her mouth abandoned, her hands now clutch at her tummy as she doubles over. Sloane watches with incredulity as the woman outright guffaws at full volume, restraint be damned.

A flash of memory forces itself forward unbidden. A time when it was Sloane whose laughter was uncontrolled and Addison who had stared on reluctant, before joining in. For some reason she can remember exactly how the director had looked then, back when Sloane was still Director of Security. Probably because it was so much like how she looked in this moment now. But…

Why, though? Suddenly, Sloane has to know. 

Through all the shit and terror and misery that comprised the majority of that time, right after waking up, everything was on fire….why were they laughing so hard? A rare, stolen moment of unrestrained mirth. Between her and this woman. A woman she since has called her enemy. A woman with whom she barely maintains this fragile truce, each barely tolerating the other.

Sloane scrunches her brow as she automatically attempts to recall the memory. But after so many months of doing her best to repress them it’s fuzzy. 

_Chicken feathers and a bust gone bust._ Another flash. _“Pinch me, would you?” The pain of Addison’s enthusiastic compliance._ _Laughter and alcohol. A brief moment of respite, quickly cut short by…._

Sloane is snapped back to current reality as some passersby hurry past, pretending not to notice the Director of Colonial Affairs’ hysterical meltdown or the former Director of Security’s passive observance of said breakdown. Given some of the things Sloane recalls about Addison back then…  _ Maybe mental breakdowns aren’t an uncommon thing to witness from the Director,  _ Sloane thinks uncharitably. 

The strange blend of clashing realities, neither truly pleasant in either time, leaves Sloane feeling heightened levels of her already ever-present anxiety. Her stomach twists and sours. She doesn’t join in the laughter this time around. Instead, she relies on the only thing that’s a constant these days: her own brooding irritability. 

“Are you quite done?” she queries the director curtly. 

Addison puffs out a few more chuckles and slowly reigns it back in, catching her breath with some effort. 

She looks back over to Sloane. Perhaps it’s the unamused scowl Sloane has fixed on her face, or perhaps she also is overcome by a sense of colliding realities. Whichever the cause, Addison just as suddenly sobers, pressing her lips together in a grim line. 

She puts herself back right, the transition near seamless. With all the dignity she can muster, Addison resumes walking, rounds the next corner.

“Cafeteria’s this way,” she informs Sloane over her shoulder, all business again. 

“I remember.” She says with something like resentment tingeing her voice. She hadn’t forgotten  _ everything.  _ She could still navigate the basics.

“Not that hungry anymore.” She adds, sounding slightly petulant even to her own ears. 

“They’ve got better food now. Also, the water is no longer brown and doesn’t taste like shit anymore.” Addison almost quips as they step inside the cafe. Sloane doesn’t miss the cautious sideways glance she gives her, checking Sloane’s temperature.

“Fancy.” Sloane deadpans.

“They fixed it not long after you…” the director abruptly stops, barely catching herself and clearly unable to finish that thought. She had frozen in the middle of grabbing a tray. Again, Addison seems unable to meet the Outcast’s eyes.

The unspoken hangs heavy in the air between them like a dead thing.

“After you and Tann had me shipped off with the rest of the Outcasts in the hopes we’d slowly die? Tell me, Addison. How’d that turn out for you?” 

Sloane twists the knife and the effect is instantaneous. Addison’s rigid self-control breaks and a pained expression seizes her face. Sloane thinks she sees her bottom lip tremble. She quickly bites down on it. 

“That’s not-” Addison weakly begins.

“It’s not  _ what _ ?” Sloane challenges, anger spiraling up.

Addison flinches as though she had struck her physically across the face. And Sloane has had enough. Something ugly twists in her stomach and she can’t look at the director anymore. She is at her boiling point, it takes all her willpower to keep it from spilling over further. More of an effort in damage control than creating any further slight, Sloane turns her back and stalks out of the cafeteria leaving the other woman standing with an empty tray in her hands and a lost look on her face.

* * *

  
  


Angry and unable to really go anywhere, Sloane heads back to the medbay. She finds a chair and pulls it up beside the Pathfinder’s cot right by the IV pole. She was going to make damn sure she knew what and who put anything in the sleeping woman’s veins. For all she knows, they could be intentionally over drugging the pathfinder to leave her vulnerable. 

If Sara had an “unexpected turn for the worst”, wouldn’t it play into their hands nicely? Just like that day they were loaded up and shipped off, like some unwanted stepchild no one would talk about again. They could just sweep Sloane and her whole group of sorry Outcasts back under the rug with no one left to care. They could tie all loose ends up into a pretty little bow with one simple, staged accident. 

Sloane’s paranoia may be in overdrive given her interaction with the Director of Colonial Affairs putting her in a sour state of mind, but it was still wise to take precautions. Especially given the days’ events.  _ I never should have come here,  _ she thinks for the hundredth time today.

And suddenly an overwhelming weariness takes hold of Sloane. She props her feet on Sara’s cot, leans back in the chair and her eyes seem to sink closed of their own will. 

* * *

When she wakes, it’s to the unpleasant feeling of her head lulling back against the chair and the unnerving realization that not only had she fallen asleep in enemy territory but she had done so with her throat so openly exposed. She might as well have tattooed “slit me” across her neck. 

Sloane leans forward and shakes the grumbly thoughts from her head in order to take stock of Sara. She is still sleeping. Sloane looks up and realizes the place is much quieter. Less traffic crowds the space and the lights are dimmed. In fact, no one is in her direct line of sight except for the occasional patients in nearby cots.

She must have slept longer than she thought. She frowns again, running a hand over her neck and shudders. 

Goose pimples prick the back of her neck. She can  _ feel _ eyes on her.

When she looks around, she nearly falls out of her chair. The silent appearance of the asarian doctor at her side startles her. Practiced in moving soundlessly between patient cots at night, the doctor’s approach had gone unnoticed. 

Lexi is standing there regarding Sloane. Initially, the Outcast had relaxed when she saw who was present. But as the seconds tick by and the asarian remains deathly still, Sloane slowly focuses more carefully on the doctor’s demeanor, trying to read her intention. Suddenly, the goose bumps return to the back of her neck as Sloane processes the calm, icy intensity behind that blue gaze. She tenses as though prepared for attack, still unsure of the doctor. The asarian doesn’t move but her eyes track Sloane’s every movement with an eerily unrelenting delibrance. 

And then it dawns on Sloane that she’s not the only one who has suspicions and paranoia about the “other side”. She may have worn out her welcome. 

Well, too bad. Sloane wasn’t going anywhere.

“I’d say ‘trust me’ but I know you won’t. So suffice it to say it would be bad for me if she died.” Sloane pauses. When there’s no overt reaction from the doctor, she continues. “Someone here, one of  _ your _ people, tried to kill her today.” 

That gets a small reaction, miniscule though it is. The other woman’s brow twitches upward, not quite surprised at the implication made but perhaps that Sloane was perceptive enough to draw that conclusion. As far as anyone else knows, the attack was on Sloane, not the pathfinder.

“I’m not leaving her just so they can finish her off while she sleeps.” She continues. Still silence, so she tries for goading a bit when she tacks on, “Especially given how heavily you’ve sedated her out of her fucking mind. She couldn’t tell a pencil from a pistol. What the hell kind of pain meds did you give her, anyways?”

Just when she thought the asarian was finally about to break her spell of silence, Sara’s groggy voice cuts through the room.

“What pain meds?” 

For the second time, Sloane almost falls out of her chair. While Sloane had focused her attention on the broody doctor, Sara had sat herself bolt upright in bed, eyes wide open and dark circles underneath. She looked like something out of an exorcist movie.

Before the asarian can respond, Sara continues.

“Why do I need pain meds?” She looks foggily around the room taking in Sloane with a confused stare. “What happened?” It’s obvious she is blissfully unaware of her embarrassing production earlier. 

_ Lucky bastard. _

Slowly a look of panic begins to spread over the pathfinders face. She looks down at her stomach, contemplating. At first Sloane thinks she fell back asleep in that position. 

Then, alarmingly, her head jerks and she shrieks,  **“OH MY GOD!! WHERE ARE MY FUCKING LEGS!?”**

Chaos ensues. 

Both the doctor and Sloane are stunned for a moment, so caught off guard by the sudden outburst. 

Other patients startle awake, one so badly he jolts out of bed and dumps on the floor by his cot with a sad sounding thump. 

Addison chooses that moment to reappear out of nowhere and demands to know what’s going on. 

Lexi fruitlessly tries to calm Sara down by explaining to her that she still has legs.

The pathfinder keeps shrieking and begins flailing wildly. 

Techs come rushing over with syringes, poised to dart her into submission.

“STOP!” Sloane  _ roars _ the word. Everyone, even the pathfinder for a brief moment, looks at her. They’re stunned into inaction for a moment. 

Before the chaos can resume, or any darts find the unruly pathfinders’ bum, Sloane lunges forward and snatches off the thin, papery blanket covering Sara’s lap. 

Revealing legs. Whole and intact.

Everyone freezes and waits to see the woman’s reaction upon seeing she did, in fact, still have legs.

Sara stares for what seems a suspended eternity at the limbs previously covered by the near see-through hospital sheets, unbelieving. Then, lifts her awed gaze to Sloane as though she just spoke them into existence. 

The needles lower. The doctor's hand previously restraining her flailing arm loosens and slides down to take her hand in a reassuring gesture. The lump on the floor by the nearby cot moans.

Everyone breathes a sigh of relief.

If Sara already had enough drugs in her system to fry her brains, Sloane wasn’t about to stand by and watch them hit her with more.

She vaguely hears Lexi proceed to explain to Addison that the side effects of the pain meds necessary to keep the pathfinder comfortable combined with the traumatic event and head injury were all affecting her behavior. However, she believed it would be temporary once she healed. 

After the techs assisted the moaning lump back to their cot, most cleared the room, leaving Sloane, Addison and the doctor alone. 

They spent the next half hour discussing how to handle the dilemma of a very unreasonable Sara who insisted on repetitively pulling her blankets back on only to start freaking out a few minutes later, thinking her legs were missing.

Apparently, both memory and object permanence weren’t a thing for her right now.

Lexi, though probably well meaning, was so focused on proposing possible causes of such a specific delusion she had little to offer in terms of solutions.

Sloane was begrudgingly considering the suggestion they use restraints to tie her down to the bed for her own safety. 

Addison surprised her with an unexpectedly thoughtful solution. 

Calmly, she disappeared across the room for a moment. When she came back she had a blank sheet of paper. In large, bold letters she wrote a note addressed to Sara that explained her legs were intact and under the covers. 

Apparently the director’s aunt had Alzheimer’s and sometimes they would calm her down by writing her notes like these, answering her most repeated, burning questions while probably sparing the caregiver’s sanity. 

Sloane almost laughs out loud when she sees she even signed it. Maybe it’s the stress or lack of sleep but something about it strikes her funny. Even maybe...sweet.

  
  


She frowns to herself at the thought and pushes it back down. Still, it ignites a pang of guilt in her gut, remembering the look on her face earlier when she had left her standing in the cafeteria. Something unpleasant tries to bubble up in Sloane’s chest. She only spoke the truth, she reminds herself. She won’t feel guilty for that. And she walked away before any real damage was done. For Sloane, those were major points.

“Still someone should probably stay with her through the night. Just to be safe. Someone she recognizes and will be able to calm her.” Lexi suggests, concern pinching her brow as she watches the restless pathfinder alreading frantically reading the note for the third time like new.

Lexi had offered to stay but it was quickly ruled out on the premise that if she was to be her primary caregiver by day, she could not be her babysitter by night. At those words, the tiredness shows itself on the asarian doctor’s face and she gratefully agrees with the logic. 

Sloane and Addison regard each other. 

“I plan on staying regardless of what you decide. Besides which, don’t you have a job to get back to in the morning, Director?” She steadily holds Addison’s unsure gaze, prepared for protest. “Kaetus can hold down the fort until I get back. Can you say the same?” She’s trying to head off an argument which could end with her being thrown off the ark. Again.

It was by no accident that she played on Addison’s control freak nature to tease her into submission. 

However, when Addison nods and quells the asarian’s half-formed protests, Sloane is once again surprised by the woman before her. She scowls to herself and silently wishes that the director would make up her mind or just be an asshole so she can assign her enemy status and be done with it. These conflicting feelings of regret and anger were too much energy.

And despite the unrestful nap she had, she is tired. They offer her a cot, but she refuses. Propping herself up on her chair, she positions herself to face outward, back to the wall, IV pole and line in sight. 

The other two bid her goodnight and the pathfinder mercifully begins to run out of energy after a couple restless hours, the note (read some tens of times) still clutched in her hand as she falls into a fitful sleep. Sloane watches over her, counting her breaths until they even out and she is sure she is down. 

* * *

In the morning, the pathfinder is alive and far more alert than the previous day, pleasantly surprising everyone who had witnessed her state the day before.

Not that she is completely back to normal, Sloane muses to herself as she observes the pathfinder trying and failing at punching her straw through her juice container- one, two, three times. 

Finally, Sloane leans forward and snatches the straw from the woman, placing it in the container on her breakfast tray. 

The look Sara gives her is more embarrassed gratitude and less be-drooled awe. 

_ At least it’s progress,  _ Sloane muses.

Shortly after her breakfast, Addison drops by looking a bit haggard. Sloane finds herself wondering if the director slept at all last night. She almost asks her as much but stops herself.

“How are we feeling today?” Addison asks the pathfinder cautiously, as though she expects her to go off at a moment’s notice. “Have you read the note I left you lately?” She prompts somewhat nervously. 

  
Sara blinks slowly at her for a few moments. Then her eyes settle on the note still crinkled in her lap. She frowns at it as though troubled by something she couldn’t quite name.

Slowly, she picks up the note and reads it aloud:

  
  
  


“Sara,

Everything is OK. 

Your legs are underneath the covers. 

-Addison “

  
  


The director seems to hold her breath to see what effect this elicits from the pathfinder. 

Sara deliberately lifts the covers up and peers underneath as though checking to make sure this isn’t some form of trickery. Slowly, she rolls her eyes up to meet Addison’s, regarding her with a caution reserved for rabid animals that might behave erratically at any moment.

“Well, no shit, Sherlock.” She retorts incredulously. “If this is how you write greeting cards, I don’t know how you managed to get so far in PR.”

And this time it’s Sloane who bellows with laughter, startling some of the nearby workers. Soon, Addison’s offended expression melts off her face with some effort, replaced by a tired smile that she lets bubble into a warm chuckle.

The older women’s eyes meet and Sloane tries not to feel a small blossom of hope in her chest.

The pathfinder was healing. Maybe-  _ maybe _ other things could, too. 

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I had a lot of fun writing this even though it literally took me all day. I'm not a writer by nature. It takes me a long time to put things into words and try to get it to convey what I want. But I have a crazy imagination which I live in most of my waking hours when not at work or with family. I thought I would share some of them as it's been lonely on lockdown and I have time on my hands. Also of note, I sort of mentioned before, a lot of these I've dreamed up while playing NMS. So some of these stories have some of that context. You'll see that more in subsequent one-shots I'm planning to add. Let me know if anyone even reads this and if you enjoy it! Thanks!
> 
> Also, there is a distinct reference to the story in the book Nexus Uprising during a conversation between Sloane and Addison that you won't get at all if you haven't read it (I highly recommend by the way. It's the only version of Sloane I'll accept. They paint her as the bad guy in the game. Don't know if it's just inconsistency in varying writers of book vs. game or if it's intentional to show the Nexus politics making her look worse than she is. Yes I know she has issues. I still love her).


End file.
